


Caecus Fides

by The_Torturer_Writes



Category: Silence (2016)
Genre: All manner of sin herein, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catholicism, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, F/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27804451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Torturer_Writes/pseuds/The_Torturer_Writes
Summary: “I fear I am a weak man, Father.” He whispered, hoarse and afraid. “My body betrays me.”He thought to find derision in Valignano’s eyes.“Perhaps I can offer an alternate solution. It comes with a cost, and it is not something to share with others. If you choose it, you will bear its weight alone, and you must not recommend it to anyone else.”“Father?” He knew confusion played across his face, but he was too intrigued to pretend otherwise. “I will take whatever assistance you can give, surely.”“Expect me tonight.”
Relationships: Francisco Garupe/Reader, Francisco Garupe/You
Comments: 14
Kudos: 11





	Caecus Fides

**Author's Note:**

> From my heathen heart to yours. This is a teaser of more to come. I didn't plan to start working on this until some of my other stuff is done, but here we are, and I need to get this scene out of my brain. Stay tuned, I suppose.

The predawn darkness weighed heavy, bustling with voices and people already working. Hands clasped at his back, he’d walked throughout the night. He wandered the silent streets, listening as Macau slept and straining to hear the voice of God. Lap after lap of agitation and turmoil.

The sun rose first in the East, and Garupe believed if he met the earliest rays, the newest born fissures of orange and yellow, he could catch God before He became too busy with the prayers of men.

But God did not come.

At the bottom of the steps, he waited, watched, basked in the splendor the Creator bestowed upon the earth. It brought tears to his eyes each time; but whether those tears were from the beauty or the silence, he could not tell.

“Father Garupe.”

The voice to his left drew his gaze, and he rolled his lips together and gulped at nothing to contain his feelings. It would not do to have his struggle on display so painfully. Stiff-backed and stoic, he yielded to the older man and bent slightly at the waist in greeting.

“Are you unwell?” Father Valignano asked quietly, reaching out to grasp his upper arm in sympathy. “This is not the first night I have found you wandering.”

It caught in his breast. Emotion, dread, imminent failure. Unable to hold back the spill of tears, he looked away, focusing once more upon the sunrise and all of its glory.

“I believe I will take the Exercises, Father.” Garupe said, nodding briefly to his elder. “If you will permit me the absence.”

Laying his hand upon Garupe’s arm, Valignano turned him towards the stairs by pretending to need his help. Step by step, they ascended to St. Paul’s College, and he felt his heart weaken with despair the closer he drew to its plaza.

“You’ve taken the Exercises three times in the last six months. What troubles you so?”

At the summit, Garupe hesitated. His pause drew the older man’s gaze, though it was gentle and warm. Long, thick fingers found the rosary at his waist, and he slipped the beads against his fingertips one by one.

“I fear I am a weak man, Father.” He whispered, hoarse and afraid. “My body betrays me.”

He thought to find derision in Valignano’s eyes, but it surprised him to find understanding, camaraderie almost. Drawing the black hat from his crown, Valignano nodded and threaded his arm through Garupe’s once more.

“The college cannot spare you another 30 days, Father. Perhaps I can offer an alternate solution. It comes with a cost, though, and it is not something to share with others. If you choose it, you will bear its weight alone, and you must not recommend it to anyone else.”

“Father?” He knew confusion played across his face, but he was too intrigued to pretend otherwise. “I will take whatever assistance you can give, surely.”

“Expect me tonight.”

Valignano patted his shoulder with what he thought to be affection, for which he was profoundly grateful. 

All throughout the day, Garupe’s hands shook. At mass, he prayed Valignano could help him, could right his heart — his body — and allow him to carry on with his mission. He hardly ate, hardly sat down to take rest. And when the knock came to his door, he stared at it and swallowed nothing down a dry throat.

The inquiry repeated a second time, though softer, and it jarred him into closing his bible and rising from his chair. Childishly shy, he opened the door a mere crack, peeking out to find a cloaked figure opposite the thick wood. He stepped back to allow entry and nearly choked on the floral perfume wafting up from the navy blue fabric.

“Who.. who are you?” Garupe mumbled almost meekly. “Did Father Valignano send you?”

Turbulent hazel eyes went round as moons. His tongue thickened, and his gut clenched. Trembling, he watched a delicate, feminine hand sneak out from under the cloak to draw back its hood. He stopped breathing, unable to do anything but stare. He thought your hair a perfect halo, your skin smooth as marble. Your eyes shone a color he couldn’t quite identify, and your lips captivated him.

“Father Garupe, yes?” You kept your voice low, but it was melodic, a tender balm that soothed his rough edges. “I am here to help you.”


End file.
